The Ending
by Shenzi
Summary: The ending is the most important part of a story. Says Stephen King. But his ending sucked. So I'm going to finsish it. After all, the ending is not the most important part of a story. It's what happens at the ending. The resolution. here goes everthing.
1. One

Ok, I thought that that movie lacked an ending. Yes, I know that it was supposed to be that way and that this will be yet another reason for you all to kill me but I'm going to do it anyway.

As the sheriff turned to walk away, Mort stared at his back, thinking how vulnerable it was and how easy it would be to kill him. He didn't even need the 22 caliber that he kept in his bottom right hand drawer. He didn't need a knife or noose. He wouldn't even use his bare hands. _Never let crazy people play with pointy objects_ he mused, turning the little yellow things for spearing corn over and over in his hands. He heard the clock tick. Louder and louder. He couldn't hear anything but the clock. It was consuming him. Mort Rainey felt the tick of the clock coursing through him until he noticed how badly his hands were twitching. They slipped and he poked himself in the finger with them. He fell on the floor screaming and twitching. Blood was everywhere! Shooter...it was all Shooter's fault. That damn son of a bitch.  
  
No...he wasn't real. No blood. Shooter was never real. So who was standing in the doorway? _Wake up Mort!_ he thought furiously. _Not real. Not good. Not real_.  
  
"WAKE UP" He slammed himself into the bookcase. "You're not real! Go away! Why ...!" he was unable to finish the question. His hands were twitching again. But that didn't matter; not now. Shooter was in the doorway. _NO!_ he thought _GODDAMNIT! NOT REAL! NOT GOOD!_ Shooter grabbed the fire poker and swung it at Mort. Blood! EVERYWHERE BLOOD. _No, not real..._ he had trouble believing this himself. "YOU'RE NOT REAL!!!!!" he screamed. At no one. Nobody was there. No blood. No corn thingeys. Nothing. Nobody. Nothing. "shit, shit, shit, shit, shit." he muttered and went to lie down on the sofa. He lay down with a groan and made to pull off his watch. No watch. Where was it? Oh yes...in the lake. Gone. _Should I go get it?_ he wondered sleepily as he pulled off his glasses. He leaned back against those horrible couch cushions that his freaky cleaning lady had put there. _I'm goanna kill her someday_. Something crunched. Whatever it was poked into his back meanly. Prepared to see a human skull or a screwdriver or something, he reached behind himself and pulled out the offending object. Ha ha. It was a manuscript.  
  
Chuckling softly to himself, Mort Rainey put his glasses back on and squinted at the paper. His eyebrows rose two inches or so and his head flew away from the paper. He held it away from him knowing that he held Secret Window, the story that he had written, the story had had started this whole mess and killed these people. "Not my fault." he said to the air. "The story did it. I did nothing."  
  
"Are you sure about that Mr. Rainey?" came the voice of Shooter from out of the shadows of his house.  
  
Alright. Enough for now. I'm not really sure where this is going...R&R please. 


	2. Two

Okay, that is the most amount of reviews I've gotten within 24 hours ever. HOORAY! I bow to you all.

* * *

"Yes, I am sure! You Don't Exist!" Mort screamed at the top of his lungs, running up the stairs and back to his desk. He sat down with a thud and sat glaring angrily around the room at all of the random objects he kept there. He picked up a pen.........then put it back down again. He picked up a cigarette. Stared at it. Put it back down. "I don't smoke." Mort said aloud. Since nobody questioned this he picked it back up. "You know, what the hell." he said to his dog. No dog._ Must be outside..._he raised it to his mouth and-RINGG! Mort fell out of his chair, sending his coffee cup and ballpoint pen flying. RINGG! Swearing loudly, he stood up and cracked his skull on the underside of his desk. Cursing louder, he stumbled out from under his desk, covered in coffee and nursing a bruise the size of a screwdriver. Putting his arm over the top of his head as though trying to squeeze the pain out, he somehow managed to stumble down the stairs and to the couch. He reached for the phone. RIN-it stopped just as his hand extended over it. Mort let his outstretched arm fall limply to the side of the couch, and he lay there for a moment, just panting and waiting to be alive again and for whoever it was that was hitting him on the head with an ice-pick to stop. When the pain didn't subside, Mort reluctantly stood up, and hobbled over to the wall. He unplugged the cord, picked up the phone and calmly threw it through the window.  
  
Mort then went to the kitchen, grabbed a Mountain Dew and went back upstairs, trying to figure out how to open the can. He threw it over the railing that separated his desk from the drop to the next floor and heard a satisfying sound as it landed on the table below and exploded. He sat down at his desk, yet again, and pulled his laptop out of a drawer. He opened up his Secret Window file and deleted the ending. He replaced it with a better one, one that had been successfully tested...in time, her death will become a mystery even to him... His finger hesitated over the enter key for a moment and then pushed it down with a finality that Mort somehow didn't feel in himself. Maybe the old ending...no. That Mort was dead. Gone. Erased. As Mort deleted the ending the ending deleted Mort. Though which of the two were good and evil was hard to say. There is no plain good and evil in the world. Not everything should rot in hell. Not everything belongs among the hallelujah chorus either. But if two wrongs don't make a right, how come two negatives make a positive? Aren't wrongs negative? And how did he get to thinking this anyway. Mort Rainey selected CtrlP and went to watch the printer.

* * *

Special Thanks to:  
  
Dawnie Thanks. Your support is highly appreciated.  
  
Mystery I think that I will read the book, it might leave me a jolly bit happier, though I must admit I am not one of Stephen King's biggest fans.  
  
I know these are short so bear with me...Please keep reviewing, I think that (depressingly) this is the only story I've ever written not making fun of it (except for MAYBE the MOA one and maybe, maybe, maybe, my poems...)..........R&R S'il vous plait! Gracias. Guten nag to ye all (don't you just love my language skills?). 


	3. Three

I'm back. This probably won't be very good because I can't afford to rent the stupid movie so I won't really know his actions/expressions. I do know how he acts sometimes though so I'm going to try this and then re-write it when I see the movie again. By the way. A) I have no idea where this is going and B) I do not own Secret Window or Mort Rainey (Not that I would object to it). C) I feel like I'm just rambling on and on.

* * *

As he watched the printer print the story, Mort let his mind wander. He rested his chin on the printing tray and wondered whether or not he should have deleted the end. His end. Perhaps…WHACK. The paper from the printer flew at him with a force that he didn't know paper could fly at. It hit him in the face and half from surprise he stumbled back and fell over with a thud. Putting his hand on his face and shaking his head back and forth, Mort Rainey clumsily pulled himself up on his desk. He sat down heavily on the floor again and stared at the piece of paper. It wavered in and out of focus for a few seconds before he finally comprehended what was written on it. "You stole my story". He dropped the paper as though it was red-hot and jerkily edged away from it. "No," He said aloud. "NO I DIDN'T!"

"Are you sure about that Mort Rainey?" came the sound of Shooter's voice from down-stairs. "You killed those people, what's a little plagiarism to that?"

Mort grabbed the 22 caliber and looked over the railing to where the sound was coming from. Nobody was there. "Where are you?"

"I'm right here". The voice was behind him. Mort pivoted, sweat droplets forming beneath his bottom lip. He wiped the sweat away.

"Goddamnit! WHERE ARE YOU?"

"Mort, don't you know your own voice when you hear it." Silence. _He's not real_, Mort thought, _he doesn't exist. I can make him go away…_He ran both hands through his silky hair. BANG. The gun went off. Mort jumped over the railing and fell to the first floor stopping only when he hit the table and cracked it in two. His gun was upstairs. When he ran his hands through his hair he dropped it and it went off. _Breathe_, Mort, he thought even though he was shaking uncontrollably. _Breathe…_He checked himself for injuries. Miraculously none. Breathe…

"You scare too easy." Mort Rainey's eyes jumped to the stairs, from whence he had heard the voice of Shooter. He was holding the Secret Window manuscript. "You fixed my ending."

"I did."

Shooter merely nodded calculatingly. Then he disappeared. "Crazy, crazy, crazy, DAMNIT, Crazy, crazy…" Mort walked over and lay down on the couch again. There was that damn hat. The crazy gleam that had never really left returned to Mort's eyes. He picked up the hat and went into the kitchen. After a while of rummaging through drawers he managed to find a lighter. With a calmness that he hadn't had but 10 minutes beforehand he set the hat ablaze and giggled evilly until the damn thing burned his hand and he had to let it finish its cremation in the sink.

Putting ice on his reddened and throbbing hand, Mort (Here I must say that I took a brief period of rest I wondered where the heck this piece of crap is going. I finally got around to buying the movie and GUESS WHAT! I read the book! It was excellent! I loved it and obsessed over it for several days. Sadly, Some IDIOT put a chair on top of my bloody Secret Window DVD...I am furious...ugh. Tonight I was planning on watching Fencing but seeing as it's on cable and I don't have cable that's off. So now I have lots of leftover pop and ice cream and so I think I will party until dawn. Therefore I should be able to write several of my pathetically short chapters tonight. Also the rating might go up since in the book he says the F word a lot and I am trying to go more with the book (aside from the fact that he isn't dead of course). So here comes the rest of the chapters!) marveled at how calm he was. No shaking whatsoever. When was the last time he hadn't been shaking? Before he'd finished off that pack of L & M's, that's for sure.

He grabbed a Diet Pepsi and sat about drinking it moodily andwondering what to do with himself. It wasn't as though he could just prance about town, what with everybody knowing that he'd killed Ted and Amy. Oh and a few others... Mort sighed. Perhaps life wasn't all it was made out to be. _Shower_, Mort thought. _I need a shower_. Sadly, he didn't have a shower anymore, so that didn't work too well.

He'd just finished setting up his sad, dusty, lonely sprinkler, when the sheriff came by. _AGAIN?_ Mort's brain was screaming, but he quickly managed to shut that off.

"Hallo," said the sheriff.

"Fuck off." said the part of Mort that he'd forgotten to shut off. The sheriff looked slightly stunned. "What was that?" he asked, an edge creeping into his voice.

"Ah, ahem, nothing." Said Mort, all trace of an accent gone. "Would you like some tea?" Now the sheriff looked genuinely confused. Mort's insides giggled spitefully. He gave the sheriff an insane grin and continued, "I made some iced tea yesterday, let it sit in the sun and watched it all day long." He let those last three words linger sing-songingly on his tongue. The sheriff was looking very worried now.

"Well, okay." Hee hee, this idiot always was entertainingly stupid...now how to kill him. Mort's brain, now completely taken over by Shooter, went through a long list of entertaining ways to kill people...there was always arsenic, or overdoses of citric acid, or he could induce hemophilia and poke a whole bunch of holes in the guy...then again, there were easier, quieter, possibleways to do it. Mort imagined himself using a large, shiny knife to silence the man's screams. Again, too loud. A bullet in the stomach would be fun to watch, but rather conspicuous, and he hadn't any poisonous snakes. Finally, Mort decided to use something he once saw on TV (though he didn't consciously acknowledge that it came from TV, let alone the Twilight Zone). He slipped a muscle relaxant into the elderberry tea (MY FAVOURITE!) that he was serving the sheriff, and wondering only briefly what idiot gave it to him.

"I've always loved a good strong cup of tea..." The old fool was saying conversationally. Mort nodded and gave the man an insincere smile, drawing his own cup of tea, nearer, as if by doing so he could take whatever warmth was in it into his own cold heart. The man collapsed immediately, and Mort had little difficulty dragging him down to the lake and dropping him in. Considering the fact that he couldn't move, the sheriff drowned relatively slowly, finally dying with the air of...NOTHING. He couldn't move to create the air of anything, except a bit of a smell. Mort dragged the corpse back up to his house and threw it in the cellar. He would decide what to do with it later.

* * *

Thanks to... 

Dawnie-7 Yeah, that's just some random thing that whirls around in my insane brain...hee hee that rhymes!

SpArRoWsWeNcH Thanks for the advice, this chapter might get revised once I can buy a new copy of the stupid movie...arghh...

'Mione You might want to learn how to spell good...also, if you want me to be your editor, send me stuff to edit, DUH.


End file.
